


may we find in each other (we're not so alone)

by elizaham8957



Series: Twelve Days of Stydia Christmas 2017 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, More holiday fluff, Post Series, The End Is Fluffy, although is this fluff? idk, engaged stydia, it's not angst per se but, it's not like ridiculously fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: Sometimes, Lydia thought she might actually kill Stiles.“You are not wearing that sweater,” Lydia told him, expression stern. Stiles, however, was looking at her in mock outrage, clearly offended she was opposed to his choice in clothing.In her defense, she had already laid out a sweater for him, and it was definitely not the one he was currently wearing. It was like he was trying to stress her out even more on purpose.“Why not?” Stiles said, looking at her with his big brown eyes in an attempt to act oh-so-innocent.“There is a Millennium Falcon on it, for starters,” Lydia said, smoothing down her dark green dress.“I know,” Stiles told her, as Finn ran by his feet, barking excitedly at something. “That’s why it’s awesome.”





	may we find in each other (we're not so alone)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 2nd day of Stydia Christmas! That means there's... what? 10 days till Christmas? That's terrifying. I have bought presents for approximately none of my family members.
> 
> This prompt was from Allison (@im2old4thisotp) and I had so much fun writing it. Isaac the art student is my new favorite headcanon. 
> 
> Title is from the Sugarland song City of Silver Dreams (spoiler alert: every fic in this series is either named from a Christmas song or a Taylor Swift song). 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy :)

Sometimes, Lydia thought she might actually kill Stiles.

“You are _not_ wearing that sweater,” Lydia told him, expression stern. Stiles, however, was looking at her in mock outrage, clearly offended she was opposed to his choice in clothing.

In her defense, she had already laid out a sweater for him, and it was _definitely_ not the one he was currently wearing. It was like he was trying to stress her out even more on purpose.

“Why not?” Stiles said, looking at her with his big brown eyes in an attempt to act oh-so-innocent.

“There is a Millennium Falcon on it, for starters,” Lydia said, smoothing down her dark green dress.

“I know,” Stiles told her, as Finn ran by his feet, barking excitedly at something. “That’s why it’s _awesome.”_

“I specifically told you _no_ Star Wars sweaters,” Lydia rebutted. _“Please_ go put on the red sweater I laid out for you. We have to leave to meet Isaac in a few minutes.”

Stiles grumbled, retreating back into their room and tugging his Star Wars Christmas sweater over his head as he went. Lydia turned, eyes searching for Finn, spotting him pouncing on his stuffed lion in the living room.

“Finn, come here,” she said, calling the dog over to her, holding him at arm’s length when he did bound over so that he wouldn’t get hair on her dress. “Sit still, baby.”

Finn sat immediately, tongue lolling as Lydia switched out his collar for a red-and-green plaid bowtie. As soon as it was secured on, she let him go, and he raced past her into their bedroom, that familiar thump of him jumping onto their bed echoing down the hallway.

“Stiles, don’t let him get hair on you!” Lydia called, her fiancé emerging from the room at that exact moment. He had the red sweater Lydia had picked for him on now, and she stood, walking towards him, catching his hand right before he ran it through his hair.

“Don’t,” she told him, frowning. “It looks good as it is.”

Stiles made a face at her, before leaning down to kiss her briefly. She felt some of the tension seep out of her body at his touch, his lips relaxing her a little bit.

“You look gorgeous, by the way,” Stiles told her, smiling softly at her. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Lydia responded, grabbing her purse and Finn’s leash. “Let’s go.”

They wrangled Finn into the car with lots of bribery, Stiles patting his head affectionately as he handed over a treat to the dog, now secure in the backseat. Sliding into the passenger’s seat, he buckled up as Lydia pulled out of their driveway, heading for the spot in the preserve they told Isaac they’d meet him at.

“Okay,” Lydia said, Stiles’s gaze turning to her again. “Isaac is definitely going to be wearing a scarf, and you are not allowed to say _anything_ about it.”

Stiles groaned dramatically. “Why _not?”_ he asked.

“Because Isaac is doing us a favor, and I’d prefer you don’t piss him off in the first five minutes of this photoshoot,” Lydia told him. Isaac had graciously agreed to take their Christmas photos for them, and Lydia _really_ needed Stiles to cooperate with him, because these photos needed to be _perfect._

“How is it possible he’s become even _more_ irritating since he came back from France?” Stiles asked.

Lydia shrugged. “Probably art school. Just, _please,”_ she said, pulling into a parking spot right next to Isaac’s car. “Please be nice.”

“Of course I will,” Stiles mumbled. Finn poked his head into the front seat, sensing they had stopped. Stiles patted his head, grinning at the dog before looking at Lydia again, his expression softening. “You okay?” he asked, his brows knitting together in concern. Lydia nodded, forcing a smile onto her face, shoving down the building stress inside her, threatening to take over.

“I’m fine,” she lied, reaching over Stiles’s legs to grab her purse from the floor of the passenger seat. “Come on, let’s go.”

They found Isaac right where he had asked them to meet, in a little clearing of pine trees a couple minutes off the path through the preserve. He already had his camera set up in front of a clump of trees that looked especially picturesque, sparkling with a dusting of fresh snow. “Thank you so much for doing this,” Lydia told him again, dropping her purse with his camera equipment. He’d somehow come back from France with an art degree, a passion for photography, and even _more_ scarves and cowl neck sweaters than he’d previously owned. It was good for him, though. Scott said it relaxed him, made him more at ease. After everything they’d suffered through growing up, they deserved all the peace they could find.

“No problem, Lydia,” Isaac said, grinning at her in greeting. “Anytime.” He smirked at Stiles, rearranging his scarf so he could slip his camera strap around his neck, and Lydia could see Stiles tense, grumbling to himself as he fought the instinct to shoot Isaac some bitingly sarcastic remark. Finn, luckily, spotted a squirrel, and Stiles struggled to keep the dog in his arms, his attention directed away from Isaac and his neckwear.

“Where do you want us?” Lydia asked, getting right down to business. There was only so long that Finn would allow them to hold him and keep him still for photos, regardless of how many dog treats they had brought with them. And she needed these photos to be _perfect._

“Let’s start right here,” Isaac said, pointing out a spot next to one of the trees, the blanket of snow on the ground still untouched. “The lighting here is really beautiful.”

“Stiles,” Lydia said insistently, drawing his attention away from the dog and back to them. Isaac arranged them in a pose, Stiles still holding Finn, Lydia’s arms resting on his, before picking up his camera, snapping some photos.

They moved through a couple different poses, smiling widely for the camera each time, but none of them felt _right._ Isaac showed them both the latest picture he’d taken, Finn’s tongue lolling out as Stiles and Lydia beamed, their arms around the dog.

“I like it,” Stiles said, nodding, Finn’s head on his shoulder. The dog had long ago stopped trying to escape Stiles’s arms, and was now content to munch on the Milkbones Lydia had brought for him.

“I don’t know,” Lydia said, worrying her lip before remembering her lipstick, immediately stopping. “It looks so… _staged.”_

“It is staged, Lydia,” Stiles said, giving her a look. And objectively, she knew Stiles was right, but there was something that still wasn’t quite right about it. Nervously, she twisted her engagement ring around her finger, trying to ignore the stress turning her stomach into knots as she stared at the digital screen on Isaac’s camera.

“Hey, Isaac,” Stiles said, leaning over to deposit Finn on the ground, clipping his leash back onto his bowtie. “Watch our dog for a minute. Lydia, come here.”

“Stiles,” Lydia complained as he tugged her aside, out of earshot of Isaac. “The sunlight’s not going to last much longer. We have to get this picture.”

“What’s wrong?” Stiles said, ignoring her previous statement. “You’re _way_ too stressed out about this.”

“I am not,” Lydia protested, cursing Stiles’s ability to read her like an open book. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Stiles responded, giving her a look. “We’ve already gotten a lot of great pictures, but you keep insisting we take more. So what’s going on?”

Lydia looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “None of them are right,” she told him, her voice a whisper. “They all look so staged. Like they’re fake.”

“Well, they are sort of staged,” Stiles said, taking her hands slowly, weaving his fingers through hers.

“I know, but I don’t want them to _look_ that way,” Lydia said, eyes locked on Stiles’s fingers, twined through hers. “They have to look _perfect.”_

“Okay,” Stiles said, moving one hand to cup her chin, tilting her head up towards his, forcing her to meet his eyes. “They don’t have to look perfect. They’re going on a Christmas card, not Time magazine or something.” He paused, his expression growing impossibly soft, eyes so full of concern that it made Lydia’s heart ache a little bit. “Why is this bothering you so much?” Stiles asked, thumb stroking her cheekbone.

Lydia sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Because my dad just sent us his Christmas card, with his new family on it,” Lydia finally spit out. She could feel Stiles freeze, taken aback. Lydia shook her head slightly, picturing the glossy photo they’d received in the mail, sitting on their mantle now. He’d gotten remarried this summer in a small ceremony Lydia hadn’t even been _invited_ to, and now he was sending her Christmas cards of him with his brand new wife and her three beautiful blonde-haired children, all smiling back with shining eyes, and it made Lydia _sick,_ just looking at it.

_“Lydia,”_ Stiles sighed, dropping his hand and pulling her into his arms, hugging her tight. His warmth seeped through her dress, making her feel a little more at ease.

“I just want to show him that I’m fine with him gone,” she mumbled, feeling foolish even as the words came out of her mouth, because she _knew_ it was petty of her. “That I don’t need him. That I’m happy without him.” She sighed, her face still buried in Stiles’s chest. “I know that’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Stiles responded, one hand running up and down her back. “I understand. And for what it’s worth, I think your dad’s an asshole.” Lydia smiled at that, pulling away a little to meet his eyes. Stiles looked back down at her, his expression soft. “But you don’t need to prove anything to him, okay, Lyds?” he said. “Especially not with a Christmas card. We _are_ happy, and you _are_ fine without him, and that’s what really matters.” He paused, pulling her close again. “If he doesn’t want you in his life, he doesn’t deserve your attention. Because you’re pretty freakin’ awesome.”

Lydia smiled, her heart fluttering at Stiles’s words, the knots of stress in her stomach already starting to loosen. “Only pretty awesome?” she asked, teasing.

“You are the most incredible person I know,” Stiles assured her, expression serious. “And I still don’t know how the _hell_ I got so lucky.”

Lydia sighed, the two of them staying silent, their arms wrapped around each other still. After a moment, Stiles spoke again, his palms still heavy and warm on her back.

“So, since he’s out of earshot— can I just _very_ quickly complain about Isaac’s scarf?” Stiles asked, and Lydia couldn’t help it; she laughed.

“It’s _cashmere,”_ Stiles continued, not waiting for an answer. “Who the hell actually wears cashmere scarves?”

“Hey, I can hear you, asshole,” Isaac retorted, looking up from where he was playing with Finn. “I do still have supernatural hearing.”

“Fucking _werewolves,”_ Stiles grumbled, loosening his arms around Lydia so he could look her in the eye again.

“You ready?” Stiles asked her, glancing back at Isaac and his camera equipment.

Lydia nodded. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

They walked back over to Isaac, Stiles leaning down to scoop Finn back into his arms, the puppy wiggling excitedly.

“So, I had an idea,” Isaac said, solely to Lydia, as Stiles was still shooting him a look full of exasperation. “Stand right here, okay?” Lydia nodded as Isaac arranged the three of them to the side of one of the trees, the snowy path into the forest stretching behind them.

“You can really see the colors of the snow here,” Isaac said. “It’ll look really nice in the background.”

“Isn’t snow just white?” Stiles asked, wresting with a wiggly Finn, and Isaac gave him a look so offended that Lydia had to physically restrain herself from snorting.

_“No,”_ Isaac said, voice full of disdain at the mere suggestion. “Have you never really looked at it in photos? In paintings?”

“Was I supposed to?” Stiles asked, glancing at Lydia.

“I took a class on Monet’s paintings one semester and we spent an entire _month_ on how he paints snow,” Isaac informed them. “You’ve never seen _The Magpie? The Frost at Giverny?_ There are so many more colors than just _white.”_

“Sorry,” Stiles said, pulling a face that suggested he didn’t feel too particularly sorry. It was too late, though— Isaac was already on a tangent, absorbed in the world of French Impressionist painters.

“We actually went to Giverny, to see where he painted all the water lilies,” Isaac told them, fiddling with the zoom on his camera. “It was incredible. But we spent part of the semester just studying his command of color, and—”

Lydia glanced up at Stiles as Isaac continued, barely able to bite back her smile at his ramblings. Stiles had a similar look on his face, his eyes shining as he looked at her, his mouth tugged up in that half smile he saved just for her. Distantly, Lydia heard the shutter of the camera, still wrapped up in Stiles’s eyes.

“Look at this one,” Isaac said, moving towards them, holding the camera out. Lydia looked at the screen, her breath catching when she saw the photo. The looks on both her and Stiles’s faces as they stared at each other were _incredible,_ their eyes shining, mouths smiling as they held back laughter, expressions soft. Lydia didn’t know how Isaac had managed to capture it, but it was _so_ clear how much they loved each other just from this single image. And Finn, in Stiles’s arms— he was staring right at the camera, his head tilted to the side adorably, baffled by Isaac’s rantings. Lydia could imagine exactly what he was thinking as he stared at Isaac: _what in the world are you talking about, strange French man?_

But the three of them, huddled together with the untouched path of snow behind them, their expressions absolutely priceless— this one was it. This one was _perfect._

“I love it,” Lydia said, her heartbeat speeding up. “Isaac, it’s gorgeous.”

“I second that,” Stiles said, his arm brushing up against Lydia’s side.

“I told you,” Isaac said, giving Stiles a triumphant look. “It’s the colors of the snow.”

“Oh my _god,_ dude, enough about the snow,” Stiles complained, tipping his head back in aggravation. Isaac laughed, clearly enjoying egging Stiles on, but Lydia couldn’t stop staring at the photo. The glossy image on their mantle of her dad and step siblings with their picture-perfect smiles was forgotten. All that she could see was her and Stiles, smiling and laughing, looking at each other like there was nothing more important in the world.

Lydia knew right then— even after Christmas, when the tree came down and the ornaments were packed away— she was never getting rid of this card.


End file.
